


and we are merely players

by chaineddove



Series: Year of Final Fantasy [1]
Category: Final Fantasy IX
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaineddove/pseuds/chaineddove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who ever said returning would be easy?  It's all going well until Quina opens his/her (metaphorically and literally) big mouth, Steiner nearly has a coronary, and Dagger has to unearth her battle racket...</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we are merely players

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stillskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillskies/gifts).



> _"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."_ \- William Shakespeare
> 
> The first fic in the _Year of Final Fantasy_ challenge undertaken by our household for 2013 (my wife plays, I fic). I wanted cute and happy post-game fic. Somehow, it ended in the destruction of public property, and Mikoto got all the best lines.

No one stops them as they half-drag each other up the stairs; he almost laughs, but they are equally breathless and focused on getting up – up – up and away from the crowd of jubilant friends and strangers. Their lives are and will always be a stage – he knows this, has known it for some time as he recovered and contemplated the consequences of his return, as he stood backstage waiting, his palms sweaty as his mind chanted, _What if she didn't wait, what if it's too late now, what if this stunt ends in nothing, what if, what if, what if?_ – but if he cannot be alone with her right now, at least for a little while, he thinks he might _die_. The way she is clutching his hand and the front of her gown – miles and miles of skirt, and it must be a nightmare to run in, but she's giving it her best shot – tells him he is not the only one who feels the urgency of the moment.

Beatrix is perhaps the only person in the world who is brave enough to come between them and their long-awaited privacy – she stands beside the door of the queen's chamber, Rusty a few steps behind her, the tips of his ears scarlet, and tries, in a very diplomatic way, to remind them that there are protocols for this sort of thing (Zidane barely holds back a zinger about there being no protocols for dashingly good-looking world-saving heroes outside of Lord Avon's plays), and really, it isn't at all proper for the queen to –

"Stuff it," Zidane suggests, never breaking stride, and shuts the door in her face, before pulling a panting, laughing, disheveled queen against his chest and kissing her, _finally_.

***

"I do not know _what_ came over you last night, you incorrigible hooligan, but – "

"Rusty," Zidane says, balancing his chair on two legs and propping his feet against the table in the queen's day room, which still contains the remains of breakfast, mostly just to watch the knight's eyes bulge at the impossible impropriety of it all, "you need to relax."

" _How can I relax?_ " Zidane considers mentioning the fact that he's rather missed the sound made by a huge man in armor jumping up and down to vent his fury. "Without a word to anyone! You... you! The queen can be excused – she is young – but you! Dragging her off to do who knows what!"

"Rusty," Zidane tries again, in his most reasonable tone of voice - he is about to burst out laughing any moment, but holds it in as best he can, "if your imagination is so seriously lacking, you know I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Steiner's face goes from scarlet to sheet-white in a matter of moments. Before he can start sputtering out something entirely incomprehensible, Dagger interrupts him, saying with a poker face so perfect that Zidane contemplates kissing her on the spot, "I scolded him."

"Yes," Zidane agrees immediately; he has made a career of rolling with the punches. "For _three hours_ , Rusty. It was exhausting. I'm telling you, she's got a temper. You should be feeling sorry for me."

In the corner, Beatrix covers her mouth, but her eye is bright with suppressed laughter. Steiner stares at them, agog. "You... well... good," he manages. "You deserved a talking-to."

"And I got one, and then some," Zidane replies easily. "See? Everyone's happy."

"Probably not the people listening at the door for gossip," Beatrix muses mildly; from the hallway, there is a sudden scurrying and clanking, denoting errant Knights of Pluto and maids heading about their business, no doubt.

***

It is, Dagger – or Garnet, when she's this regal, she really is more Garnet than Dagger – assures him, a very _small_ dinner. By _small_ she seems to mean that there are only fifty or so people present, about half of whom Zidane knows. They make the rounds, everyone congratulating them on their engagement (Zidane thinks of pointing out, wryly, that he hasn't technically proposed marriage – rather, Beatrix and a small regiment of her pantsless minions had barred the door to the queen's chambers the night prior and suggested he might make use of a guest room, now that the queen was feeling more forgiving and did not require privacy to discipline him a second time; when he had attempted to muscle his way through, he had been reprimanded and told that a Prince Consort did not generally attack his own guards – so really, the matter had been decided for him. When he had scaled the wall outside of the queen's bedroom and slipped over her windowsill, she had had to suppress her laughter at his miffed expression by pressing a pillow against her face – so as to keep from alerting the well-meaning guards just outside – then had promised to "forget" to latch the window until the wedding – at which point asking had just seemed superfluous.).

By the time the second course is served, Dagger is deep in conversation with one of the members of her cabinet – Zidane supposes he'll need to learn their names sooner or later – Steiner is making doe eyes at Beatrix from across the table (deeply disturbing, that), Freya is arguing with Cid about proper steel-folding techniques, and Eiko is sitting between Quina and Amarant, expounding on the relative virtues of being a bridesmaid versus a flower girl. Zidane tries to pretend to listen, Amarant has a look on his face that is almost not a scowl – outright jubilation, by Amarant standards – and Quina looks confused, which is confusing in and of itself, as the plate in front of the Qu still has some crumbs on it, and hasn't been picked it up and licked yet. "There will be wedding?" Quina asks eventually.

"Well, naturally," Steiner says. "I suppose it cannot be helped now – and I will admit – grudgingly, mind you – that the monkey may possess _some_ redeeming qualities not entirely unsuited for the office of Prince Consort..."

"Humans strange," Quina proclaims, head shaking. "Get married twice. Once not enough? Was very nice wedding first time."

In the ensuing outcry, Zidane wonders, without much hope, if this means he might not need to scale the castle wall for the next six months or so while china patterns and flower arrangements are decided upon by those who actually care for such things.

***

"This," one of the queen's advisers says a few hours later, giving Zidane a dirty look from across the very small conference room he has hurried them into, "is completely unacceptable."

"I keep telling you, it was kind of unavoidable at the time," Zidane tells him. "And anyway," he adds as an afterthought, "it was _her_ idea."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating," the pompous little man says, and Dagger, of course, keeps her perfectly beatific I-am-the-sweetest-thing-in-this-room expression. "There is _no way_ we can explain to the people after that appalling display earlier this week that there will be no wedding because the queen has in fact been secretly married for years. That isn't _done_."

"Well," Zidane replies, nearing the end of his patience, "doing the undoable is kind of a hobby of mine – why not just issue a royal proclamation: 'By the queen's decree, blah blah blah, sorry, no party this time'? I'll write it for you."

"Your Majesty," the adviser says, turning a pleading expression to Dagger, who is still looking nonplussed, " _please_ talk some sense into him. The lace for your dress has already been cut. The invitations are even now being inked by the scribes. All those suitors you turned down these last years –"

"Suitors?" Zidane asks incredulously.

"You were gone," Dagger says quietly. "And I turned them all down, as he said."

"It would not have been appropriate for a married woman to entertain them _at all_ ," the adviser laments.

"Entertain – ?" Zidane tries.

"Feeding them dinner – with chaperones, I might add – and sending them on their way hardly qualifies as entertainment," Dagger says calmly. "What was I supposed to do, do you think, in that situation? Shut them outside and prepare to appease their noble fathers?"

Zidane sighs and says, "Here's one no one's thought of – why don't we just go on with the wedding as planned and pretend none of this ever happened?"

"Absolutely not," the adviser says. "It would not be proper, and if it were to get out, it would be a disaster. The repercussions with the church alone... no, there is only one solution to this that I can see."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Zidane asks morosely; Dagger reaches over to squeeze his hand tight enough to cut off his circulation, as if to agree that no, he won't, not one little bit.

***

"It's not that I object to getting away from the seamstresses sticking pins in me," he says with a deep sigh, "but this is a little ridiculous, you know?"

The Red Rose glides smoothly over the endless expanse of ocean, and Dagger stands at the window, looking down at the shimmering water, and, he thinks, remembering. In some ways, it is as though no time has passed at all – her hair is pulled back with a ribbon, her clothing simple, and she has a racket strapped to her back. He knows he will always like this Dagger best – cheerful and unfettered, without a crown on her head – and when she turns to him and gives him a decidedly un-queenly and mischievous smile, he suspects that she may like herself best this way, too. "Well," she tells him, "It is a _little_ easier than climbing a trellis."

He can't help laughing at that – she's got him there, he must admit. "I'd like a portrait to commemorate Rusty's face when you told him he couldn't come along."

She puts her hands on her hips and proclaims, "If they are silly enough to say that we are already married, then I can see no reason to bring along a chaperone."

" _But Your Majesty! You will not be married on the way **back**!_ " Zidane exclaims in a fair impression of Steiner's impassioned wail. "I thought his head would explode."

She giggles, then looks thoughtful. "Just how long do you think it _will_ take to get a divorce in Conde Petie?"

Zidane shrugs, and tells her, "I'm sure we'll be home for dinner."

Which, in retrospect, shows exactly how little he knows.

***

"Nae, we cannae do tha’, lad," Father Brian says for probably the fifth time since they tracked him down, pacing the hall – as if no time has passed at all, discounting the fact that his beard seems a little longer. "And ye dinnae want to do this, believe me. Why, I remember it like 'twere yesterday, the hundredth ceremony I performed, with the sun shining, the both of ye so excited to begin yer journey together..."

"And now, we'd really kind of like that journey to _end_ ," Zidane pleads. "Come on, man, have a heart."

"I have a heart, and my heart is breakin’ for the two of ye," the old holy man says sadly. "So young... too young fer giving up, lad."

"I'm not giving up on _anything_ ," Zidane protests. "But this is sort of an emergency, so if you could just..."

"Och, look at ‘er, the lassie clearly still loves ye," the priest interrupts. "Why, just spend some time and gaze into her eyes, and ye'll find-"

"That's not the point – "

"No," Dagger says clearly, speaking up for the first time since this argument began, "I don't."

"You don't?" Zidane asks, whirling around to look at her incredulously. She kicks his shin.

"No," she repeats, "I _don't_ , and I would very much appreciate it if you could take heed of my plight, Father Brian. I _can't_ be married to him any longer. I simply can't bear it. You can't imagine it – barely a few months after the wedding, he _abandoned_ me. I have had to learn to live my life without him; I do not need him now, when he finds it _convenient_."

Zidane looks between the two of them as the priest knits his brows gives him a sorrowful look. "That cannae be, laddie," he says sternly. "A man cannae abandon the woman he is bound to."

"Well," Dagger says, crossing her arms, "he did."

"Och, lad, a pity ye cannae see what is right before your eyes." He pats Dagger gently on the shoulder and says, "I will have to think on it, lass. Such a thing as you are asking, it is not within the tradition, but I cannae leave ye to suffer, no indeed..." He sighs deeply and continues. "Go and rest at the inn. I have much to ponder."

He disappears into one of the nearby doorways. Wordlessly, Dagger turns on her heel and stalks off towards the inn. It takes him a moment – he is flabbergasted – before he can catch up. "What is going on?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"You are meant to be an actor," she hisses back. "Act."

She maintains her stormy expression all though her interaction with the clearly discomfited innkeeper. Zidane trails after her, looking – and feeling – a little morose, then shakes his head in disbelief as she slams the door, falls onto the bed, and erupts with nearly hysterical giggles. "You," he says, "are wasted in that royal palace; you were obviously born for the stage."

"Was I convincing enough, do you think?" she asks, sitting up, tidying her hair which has not survived her fall onto the bed with grace.

"I think you're amazing," he tells her, and it's true. He perches on the edge of the bed, still a little afraid despite himself that she'll turn her furious expression on him again. "Where did that come from?"

"Well," she says lightly, "all the books suggest that lying works best when you stick as close to the truth as possible."

He looks down into his lap. He has already given her the only explanation he has – _I was so badly hurt, and it was all such a mess, and there was no choice_ – but even then, the guilt doesn't fade so quickly. "Dagger, I..."

The mattress shifts as she scoots to sit next to him, hip to hip. "I know," she says quietly. "And I understand – I think. I don't have to like it, but..." She puts her head on his shoulder and sighs with her whole body. "If you go away again," she says very quietly, "I won't forgive you."

"All right," he says. "I'll remember that." He takes her hand and they sit for a moment in companionable silence. He thinks about how much she's changed, how little she resembles the lost, socially inept girl he kidnapped what seems so long ago. But he's changed too, and he's made his choices, and now they're going to live with them, together. He thinks he can handle that. He _knows_ she can handle anything. "So," he says at length, "I'm a little scared of what you'll come up with, but what do we do now?"

"Now," she says decisively, "we get some sleep. In the morning, we see what Father Brian has to say."

"How could he refuse your impassioned plea?" Zidane says with a chuckle.

Dagger grins at him "You _really_ think it was amazing?"

"I think _you're_ amazing," he tells her again, and kisses the tip of her nose, then her lips, thinking that at the very least, it's nice not to have an entire regiment of armored guards outside the door, listening for suspicious sounds.

***

"I have thought long and hard on yer request, lassie," Father Brian announces. "The bond is one which cannae be broken, but... I told ye then, the ceremony is for dwarves. Maybe in yer case... I might make an exception."

" _Thank_ you for being reasonable," Zidane says with a sigh of relief. The priest glares at him.

"I wasnae finished, laddie. As I said, I _might_ make an exception. Ye have treated the lass badly, and I can offer some sympathy. But I didnae hear the whole story, and I still have hope for ye."

"There is no hope," Zidane says firmly. "Believe me Father, hope is _dead_."

"Enough, laddie," Father Brian says, waving him off. "Here is what I have decided. One week, ye will spend here in Conde Petie. One week, starting today, ye will live as a joined couple ought, in peace and harmony. At the end of the week, ye will travel again to the holy place together. If ye come back, and still wish it..."

"Believe me, Father, you have no idea just how much I wish it," Dagger says.

"Off with ye, then," the priest says. "But remember, ye must _try_."

***

Dagger uses Mognet to inform Steiner and Beatrix of their delay. Zidane thinks Rusty must be ripping out his hair by now, and is sorry to be missing it. Instead, he spends the first day nursing numerous mugs of ale at the pub and flirting with anyone who tries to engage him in conversation, regardless of age or gender. Dagger makes a show of walking in, crossing her arms, then storming out; he assumes she spends the day out on the plains somewhere, which, to be honest, sounds much better than his miserable, half-drunken state, but they have appearances to uphold.

They do not reunite until evening at the inn; she glares, he looks sullen. He thinks it's a boon that Father Brian walks in on business until the priest says, "Yer not even _tryin'_ ; that was part of our bargain."

***

They spend the second day wandering in and out of shops in the village. She picks something out, he puts it back and replaces it with an item of his own choosing, she scolds him, they make a mess of the shelves, buying nothing, and leave, only to return later that day for an encore performance. At the end of the day, they've purchased one potion between the two of them and caused even the mild-mannered shopkeepers of Conde Petie to lose their patience.

By evening, they are so exhausted with the shouting and histrionics that they sit silently across from each other, spooning up stew and daydreaming about their room at the inn, which will at least be quiet and private.

Father Brian, who seems to be _everywhere_ at once, stops at their table and says, beaming with self-satisfaction, "Now _that's_ more like it."

As though they haven't spent the _entire day_ annoying everyone in his village. It's incredible. "We can't agree on _anything_ ," Dagger says petulantly.

"Ye agreed on dinner, dinnae ye?" the priest asks with an indulgent smile.

"Stew was _the only thing on the menu_ ," Zidane has to point out.

Father Brian only laughs and says, "Ye'll see, it will only get better."

As he walks away, Zidane mutters, "I'd hate to see his definition of 'bad,' wouldn't you?"

Dagger has to turn her giggle into a cough; it wouldn't do to be seen _laughing_ together of all things; in Father Brian's book this likely would spell reconciliation.

***

On the third day, the trader from the Black Mage Village comes, and along with him Mikoto. She catches them in the middle of a standoff in the central town square – in all honesty, Zidane has no idea what the imaginary fight is about, though he thinks it might be whether the name of the heroine of a particularly obscure Lord Avon play is Armina or Adina – and gives them a very long, very bland look that nonetheless manages to say, as clear as if she'd used words, that she considers them certifiably insane.

"Number 476 said there were two humans here, acting like territorial dragonlings," she says. "I wanted to see for myself." She pauses, tilts her head to the side, and muses, "One might think that after all this time, Number 476 could tell the difference between humans and genomes. What are you doing? Is this some very strange human courtship ritual?"

At which point they have to each grab one of her arms and bundle her off to their room at the inn to beg her not to blow their cover.

She listens to their story with her usual preternatural stillness, then tells them, "There are some things about Gaia I will never comprehend."

Having secured her promise not to spoil the ruse, they re-emerge into town. The rest of the day is spent ignoring each other – very loudly – from opposite sides of a community garden while Mikoto is forced to take increasingly ridiculous messages between them with growing frustration. At dinner time, they reconvene – for more stew, of course – and Father Brian chooses this time to make his daily reappearance to praise them. "Och, family is the best thing in times such as these," he says nodding his satisfaction. "Yer sister will set ye right, sure enough."

Mikoto blinks, confused, and says, "I did not say I was his sister."

"Obvious, innit?" the priest says, showing he has not had much experience with genomes in general or Mikoto in particular. "Ye look just alike, dinnae ye?"

Mikoto furrows her brow and frowns. "How so?" she demands. "I am female; he is male. My hair is lighter, his eyes are bluer, he is taller and a fair amount stronger, and my tail is longer than his is. From my perspective, we do not look the same at all, unless one is acutely nearsighted, perhaps. Are you?"

"She's very literal," Zidane says with a grin. "And Mikoto, you liar, your tail is _not_ longer."

"You can measure them, if you like, but the facts will not change," his sister says calmly. "And how am I supposed to 'set him right,' please? People who disagree with my brother frequently end up dead."

At this point, Father Brian hurries away, Dagger muffles her giggles with her napkin, her shoulders shaking, and Zidane tells her, "Way to threaten him, squirt; I think he nearly peed his pants. If he's wearing pants under that robe, anyway."

Mikoto looks genuinely confused as she says, "Why would he feel more threatened than he might have felt previously? I said _frequently_ , not _always_. Is that statement not accurate?"

All things considered, Father Brian is probably glad to see her go the next morning.

***

On the fourth day, it rains. Although the majority of the town is shielded, being under a hillock, the sanctuary floods, and Zidane spends most of the day being helpful, lugging furniture and relics and who knows what else out of the deluge. When he returns to the inn that night, wet, bedraggled, and weary, Dagger is perched on the edge of the innkeeper's desk. She looks him up and down slowly, sighs, and says, "There, you see? Once again, he left with nary a word to me, and now back he comes, looking like a drowned rat. Stay away from me; if you've caught a chill, I do _not_ want your germs."

In retribution, when Zidane pours himself a steaming hot bath later, he pulls her in with him, clothes and all, ignoring the shrieks and splashes which he hopes will pass for angry through a thick oak door.

***

On the fifth day, they're both a little under the weather, not to mention running out of ideas. They keep to their room, and in a moment of brilliance, Dagger pulls out her pocket-size copy of _Lord Avon's Greatest Hits_ and they read scenes. Armina's murder of her lying husband – Dagger was right about the name, damn it – comes off particularly spectacular, though Zidane goes flying a bit harder than intended and whaps his head against the nightstand, dropping out of consciousness like a brick. When he wakes up again, he's been tucked in bed alone with a cold cloth over the bleeding gash on his forehead. "You see what I put up with?" he asks anyone who will listen when he finally leaves the room.

"I didn't hit you _that_ hard, you big baby," Dagger says, though her eyes show her distress clearly.

"Oh yes, not _that_ hard," Zidane mutters, then gives her a wink.

They're having dinner when Father Brian bustles over to see his injury. As Dagger is explaining herself – rather poorly, which is probably the point – she gestures wildly and sends her bowl of stew flying. The bowl lands on Father Brian's head, its contents dripping down over his ears and cheeks, staining his snowy beard. Dagger blushes scarlet, and Zidane says once again, with relish, "You _see_ what I put up with?"

"I didn't mean to do that," Dagger whispers when the priest has retreated.

"Just do me a favor and don't touch anything for the rest of the day," Zidane tells her. Then, with a snort of laughter, "I'm getting sick and tired of mystery stew anyway."

***

Day six begins with quite possibly the best idea of Zidane's illustrious career, though Dagger is against it at first.

"Listen," Zidane says in his most wheedling tone of voice, "we need to make a point, right? So trust me a little. If you feel that bad about it, we can pay the damages later." Besides, not only is this a once in a lifetime opportunity, but also, he's getting a little desperate about Father Brian's unruffled stubbornness. "You want him to want to give us that divorce, right?"

"Well yes..." Dagger says uncertainly.

"All right, then, I guarantee this will do it. Now are you in this to win?" Uncertainly, she nods her head.

This is how they end up in the sanctuary at high noon, fighting about the proper way to cork a potion bottle at top dramatic volume – which is rather a lot, considering Zidane knows how to project on stage and Dagger seems to be a natural actress – and hurling things at each other – from chairs to what look like religious artifacts. He ducks out of the way of some stone statuette and hears it shatter behind him, which is what brings the dwarves running.

It takes four people to break it up. Father Brian's eye is twitching as he relegates them to separate rooms for the night. "Ye'll go to the sacred place tomorrow as planned," he says stubbornly, "but ye seem to need an evening to reflect without the... pleasure... of each other's company. Off with ye now."

They bar Zidane's window and lock his door – honestly, he's a little surprised they haven't been arrested – and while he's sure picking the lock wouldn't take much effort, he plays along, lying back on his bed, arms cradling his head, and settling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

They are bundled off down the path in the gray light of pre-dawn. The trip is short, especially considering the wilder denizens of the mountain are painfully easy to dispatch when they get aggressive. As they reach the small shrine, the sun rises. "Should we pray, do you think?" Dagger asks curiously.

"I don't think their gods like us very much right now," Zidane comments. Then they are laughing, rolling on the grass with mirth, Zidane's hands clutched around his stomach, which is actually aching with the force of his glee. He catches her before she can tumble off of a ledge, pinning her beneath him. Her hair is spread under her on the grass, wet with dew, and her eyes are full of laughter. "You're beautiful," he tells her. He's told her before, a hundred times in the last two weeks at least, but it never seems quite enough to express the way he feels when he looks at her.

She smiles up at him and then bites her lip and asks, "It's going to be all right, isn't it? We're going to be fine?"

"We're going to be everything," he promises. "We're going to be amazing. Together we can do anything. Wait and see, Dagger."

She cups his cheek and asks, "And you still love me even though I shouted at you and knocked you out and broke the fertility goddess statue?"

"I love you _especially_ because you broke the fertility goddess statue," he tells her. "There's no one like you." Maybe it's superfluous, maybe it's obvious, maybe the lace for the dress has already been cut, but still, the moment seems to call for it, so he says "Say, do you want to go home and get hitched and live happily ever after, just like a play, only with fewer sword fights?"

It is worth it as he watches her face light up, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, as she tells him, "I don't mind the sword fights once in awhile, either. _Yes._ "

He bends down to kiss her, and she murmurs, "Someone could see."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" he asks against her lips.

***

Regretfully, he releases her hand just before they crest the final hill on the way back to Conde Petie. He knows how they must look – disheveled and wet with dew and thoroughly satisfied – but tries his best to put a neutral expression for Father Brian, who is waiting for them at the village entrance. "Well?" the old man asks, not looking particularly hopeful.

"We want a divorce," they say in perfect unison. "Please," Dagger adds after a moment, as an afterthought.

Father Brian sighs deeply, then says, "Then I cannae deny ye; never have I seen two people more intent on killin' each oother." He raises his hand over them and intones, "Spirits o' the mountain, spirits o' the wood, release this man and this woman from their joining; let their union be dissolved. And grant them wisdom tae keep this from happening again." _Especially in my village_ , his expression says. "Yer free to go; the innkeeper has packed yer things."

It is quite obvious that the dwarves will breathe a sigh of relief the moment they are out of sight; Zidane considers lingering, just to be difficult, but if they leave now, they'll make it back to Alexandria Castle for a late dinner, and if he sees another bowl of stew, he might be the one who throws it at an innocent bystander.

Accordingly, they grab their packs, say good-by the to the innkeeper (Dagger hands him a substantial bag of gil, more than enough to pay for any damage they have caused and then some), and walk out of the village, trying and failing not to grin the entire way.

***

"So, as you can see, Your Majesty, a honeymoon is out of the question," Beatrix says. At least she has the grace to look apologetic about it. "You were gone for a week already and with the treaty talks coming up with Cleyra, and the festival in Lindblum the month after..."

"It's all right, Beatrix," Dagger says, "I understand."

"Besides," Zidane says, "we already had one. Sort of."

Steiner gives him a narrow-eyed glare and says, "I do hope you behaved as a future Prince Consort ought and did not do anything... anything... _improper_."

Zidane contemplates, for a brief moment, the expression on Steiner's face if he divulged the meadow or the bathtub or even his drunken flirting with a middle-aged dwarven blacksmith while Dagger wandered around the mountains unprotected. Instead, he says, "Rusty, you wound me. Do I look like the kind of guy who would debauch his queen in the middle of a mountain meadow?" Dagger coughs. Steiner splutters. Zidane blithely continues, "Of course not. Although, if you're in the mood for a confession, I have to admit, we _did_ break an ancient religious artifact..."

"You _didn't_!" Steiner exclaims.

"You're right," Zidane agrees, " _I_ didn't, _she_ did."

Steiner turns to gape at Dagger. "It was kind of unavoidable at the time," she says calmly, borrowing his line from a week prior. "Besides, it was _his_ idea."


End file.
